The Seventh Sigil

by Margaret Weis

  “How did this earl come to own griffins?” Sir Ander asked, as they trudged across the smooth, well kept lawn. “I never heard of anyone who kept them like chickens.”

  “For God’s sake, don’t let the griffins hear you say that,” said Sir Henry. “They’ll snap off your head. The earl doesn’t really own his griffins. During the Dark Ages, dragons and griffins living in the Sountral Mountains fought over the dwindling food supply. As you can imagine, the dragons always won. Several major griffin families formed pacts with wealthy humans, agreeing to serve them in return for food and a safe place to raise their young. Generations of the Brooking family have kept griffins. That might come to an end,” Sir Henry added grimly.

  “Does he mean the griffins or the earl?” Sir Ander asked Father Jacob in a low voice.

  Father Jacob didn’t reply. He was keeping a wary eye on the storm. The wind was growing stronger, snatching at their hats and whipping their coattails. The black, boiling clouds were slowly advancing, blotting out the stars to the west. Sir Henry and Alan began arguing over whether Alan should go to the rendezvous site to find Simon. Alan protested that he didn’t want to miss out on the action. Sir Henry was endeavoring to persuade him when Alan came to a sudden stop.

  “What is it?” Sir Henry asked. He reached for his pistol.

  Alan was peering into the sky. “Look there. Above the trees. I think Simon has come to us.”

  A strange-looking vessel sailed into view, black against the stars. The vessel flew low to the ground, barely skimming the treetops. Two men were seated in what appeared to be two comfortable armchairs that had been welded onto a cigar-shaped metal lift tank with wings.

  “What in heaven’s name is that thing?” Sir Ander asked, staring in amazement.

  “The Contraption!” Alan replied, laughing.

  “How does it stay airborne?”

  “Each wing has an air screw and a small lift tank, plus a larger lift tank for ballast.” Alan raised the lantern, signaling with the light, and began to shout. “Simon! Down here!”

  Apparently one of the occupants saw him, for the vehicle veered off its course and flew in their direction. After circling several times, the Contraption made a gentle landing on the lawn, bumping twice, then coming to a halt.

  “Simon!” Sir Henry exclaimed, running over to meet his friend. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same question. When you didn’t arrive at the rendezvous point, we went searching for you. There has been a development. Mr. Albright and I have been using the other boulders as guides to the final one, taking measurements and such like. When we flew over one of the boulders this morning, we noticed that the contramagic constructs had started to glow green.”

  He looked at Father Jacob, whose expression had darkened.

  “That’s bad, isn’t it,” said Simon.

  “I’m afraid so,” said Father Jacob. “The drumming has lit the fuse, so to speak.”

  “Drumming,” said Simon thoughtfully. “Of course. That’s the beating sound I’ve been hearing in in my head.”

  “What about the last bomb?” Father Jacob asked urgently. “You said you made calculations. Does this mean you know where it is located?”

  “I believe I do,” said Simon. “I can lead you to it.” He paused, looking around, then frowned. “What has happened? Where is Mr. Sloan?”

  “I will tell you the short version,” said Henry. “Eiddwen cast a spell that caused our carriage to crash. Mr. Sloan tumbled into a brook and nearly drowned. He is in bed with a cracked skull. Eiddwen came here to steal griffins. We came here to be insulted by the earl.”

  “So just another day at the office for you, Henry,” said Simon, grinning.

  “We did manage to obtain the loan of the earl’s griffins,” said Sir Henry. “Without shooting the earl. Though we came close.”

  “Of course, you did. Well, mount your griffins and follow me. We’ll have to hurry. I don’t like the looks of that wizard storm.”

  The Contraption returned to the air. Father Jacob and the others hastened to the eyries, where the earl housed his griffins or, as the griffins viewed it, the residences they deigned to inhabit.

  The griffins built their eyries at the tops of enormous, ancient oak trees, some probably dating back to the time of the first earl. The nests were so high in the trees, they were impossible to see from the ground. A few outbuildings below housed the grooms, the saddles and bridles and other equipment.

  The griffins were flying in circles above the trees, shrieking in anger, upset, no doubt, over the loss of members of their family. Jenkins and two of his stable hands had two of the beasts saddled and were working on the other two. After finishing, Jenkins provided helmets and urged the men to be careful.

  “I explained to the griffins that you gentlemen know the people who are responsible for the abduction and that you are going after them. I have no idea if they understood me or not. The earl, Lord bless him, thinks griffins understand every word he says. I’m not so certain myself. At least they didn’t bite off my head when I brought out the saddles.”

  Sir Henry and Alan went to talk to the grooms and inspect the saddles. Simon and Mr. Albright, in the Contraption, circled overhead. Father Jacob stood braced against the buffeting wind, his cassock whipping around him. Lightning flared, spreading purple flame over the surface of the advancing clouds. He could hear the thunder now, a low rumble that seemed to roll over the ground. He felt a few cold spatters of rain on his face.

  “There was a storm the night I fled my home,” said Father Jacob.

  Sir Ander looked at the priest, startled. Father Jacob had never talked about that period of his life.

  “Alan followed me out of the house, his angry voice shrill above the cracks of thunder. I tried to explain why I had to leave. My brother, who had never known God, could not possibly understand. With the soldiers closing in, I turned and ran. Alan chased after me until he slipped in the mud and fell to his knees. He cursed me, ‘Traitor, coward.’ I heard his cries.” Father Jacob sighed. “But God’s voice was louder.”

  “A good thing for us all that you listened, Father,” said Sir Ander.

  “Was it?” Father Jacob shook his head. “I brought my family to ruin, broke my father’s heart, lost my brother’s love. Did I ever feel a sliver of doubt? A pricking of my conscience?”

  Sir Ander said nothing. Father Jacob was not talking to him anymore.

  “Sometimes, many times, I argued with God, fought with God. I struck at Him with my fists like a prize fighter in the ring. He fended me off, let me flail away until I grew weary and my rage died and I could again hear His voice in my heart. I never doubted Him. Always I have believed.”

  Father Jacob reached into the breast of his cassock to touch the slim volume he always carried with him. Saint Marie’s Confession. He remembered her words, written at the very end before she started on the journey that would end in her martyrdom.

  “‘And now it seems that the tears and the curses and the blessings have led me to this moment,’” Father Jacob murmured. “‘God stands with me and if I fall He will raise me up and my soul will shine as a star in His firmament.’”

  A hand touched his arm. Father Jacob turned, half expecting to see the saint. Instead he saw Sir Ander.

  “The griffins are saddled, Father. We’re waiting only for you. We need to leave before the storm hits.”

  “I’m coming,” said Father Jacob.

  But before he could go, Sir Ander stopped him, his hand grasping his shoulder.

  “God has more than enough stars, Jacob,” Sir Ander said. “He doesn’t need another.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” said Father Jacob.

  34

  God stands with me and if I fall, he will raise me up …

  —Sister Marie Elizabeth

  Morning’s pale glow spread across the sky, making the massive cloud formations boiling out of the east seem that much darker by contrast. The wizard
storm dogged them, following them slowly, inexorably. Outrider clouds spat rain at them.

  Sir Ander tore his gaze away from the purple, lightning-shot clouds. There was nothing to be gained by staring at them. He concentrated on the ground rolling below him, only faintly illuminated by the coming of the new day—maybe the last day. Sir Ander sternly stopped such dark thinking.

  “Between Father Jacob and Sir Henry, we have God and the devil both on our side,” Sir Ander said to himself with a grim smile “That must count for something.”

  Simon flew ahead of them in the Contraption. According to his calculations, the boulder that was the final link in the deadly chain was about ten miles to the north. Scanning the ground below, Sir Ander could barely make out large structures, such as houses or barns, in the gloaming. He wondered gloomily how he was supposed to find a boulder.

  In order to see, he was forced to lean over the griffin’s leonine shoulders, bracing himself against the feathered eagle neck. The griffin didn’t like such familiarity, apparently, for it kept glancing back at him, black eyes glinting.

  Sir Ander wished the beast would watch where it was going. He was not impressed with the earl’s griffins and neither were the others. Jenkins had used the word “spoiled” in reference to these griffins, though not within their hearing, of course. The earl rode to the hunt on occasion, but mainly he reveled in the pride of ownership.

  “Though there’s some question of who owns who,” Jenkins had told them. “The earl gives the beasts every luxury and the griffins do almost nothing in return. I must warn you, gentlemen. I have worked with griffins for nigh on thirty years and it’s my feeling you dare not trust these beasts. They’re using you to find their own. Once they do, they’ll leave you high and dry.”

  Sir Ander straightened his back, grimaced at the stiffness, and looked over at Father Jacob, who was flying to Sir Ander’s left and slightly ahead of him.

  Father Jacob enjoyed riding griffin-back. He would sit braced in the saddle, the short, knee-length “traveling” cassock flapping in the wind; his helmet straps dangling behind. He would kick at the griffin with his heels, urging the beast to fly faster, much to the irritation of the griffin.

  This morning, Father Jacob sat motionless in the saddle, holding the reins loosely, as if he wasn’t aware he was holding them at all. He did not search the ground, but gazed ahead, far ahead, past Sir Henry and Alan. Past Simon sailing along in his Contraption. Sir Ander wondered what the priest was seeing.

  A vision of heaven? Or of hell?

  Whatever it was, Sir Ander didn’t like it. He had overheard Father Jacob quoting Saint Marie about going to God. For the first time since he’d met the priest, he wondered if Father Jacob was afraid. Sir Ander had never known Father Jacob to fear anything. As he had once put it, Father Jacob didn’t have enough sense to be afraid.

  The idea that he might now be afraid was upsetting.

  They followed the highway, flying over fields of grain and oak groves, lush lawns and rolling hills, homes and villages. After miles of this, the Contraption veered away, flying in a more southerly direction that would take them closer to the edge of the continent.

  The southeastern shoreline of Freya was undeveloped, unlike the southern part of the continent. The jagged cliffs of granite that jutted out into the Breath were dangerous to shipping, and the wind swirling around the cliffs was so unpredictable that it would suck ships too close to the coastline or blow them far off course. There were no natural harbors, like those in the major shipping ports of Haever and Westfirth, in Rosia.

  Looking down, Sir Ander saw a land that was desolate, empty, and windswept, dotted by stunted trees bent double by the wind and sparse outcroppings of saw grass and brush.

  Sir Ander looked back to see that the storm was closing on them. Boiling up from below, the ragged black clouds were slowly starting to obliterate the sunlight. The spitting rain had stopped and the wind had lessened in force, but there was an ominous feeling, as if the storm were sucking in a huge breath. Scudding wisps of fog drifted between him and the ground, making it more difficult to see.

  The Contraption flew on, undeterred. They were nearing the coast, the continent’s sharp-toothed shoreline lit by the glow of the sun. The Contraption began to slow its speed. Simon thrust out his arm and waved and pointed, motioning downward.

  Sir Ander searched the area, but he could not see a boulder and concluded that they must have arrived at the general location where Simon hoped to find it.

  The Contraption descended, accompanied by the griffin riders. Sir Ander started to give the order to descend, then noticed Father Jacob continuing on, apparently unaware that they were landing. Sir Ander shouted at him and pointed to the Contraption. Father Jacob came back to reality with a start, nodded and signaled his griffin to follow the others.

  Alan was the first to find the boulder and the activity around it. Once he had pointed it out, Sir Ander wondered with chagrin how he could have missed it. The boulder looked completely out of place in the midst of the empty, barren landscape. They glided nearer, keeping to the cover of the mists of the Breath.

  The two stolen griffins were tethered to some scrubby pine trees not far from the boulder. Four men formed a perimeter around the boulder, each posted at a compass point. The dwindling sunlight glinted off metal helms and the barrels of their long guns.

  “She brought soldiers,” Sir Ander muttered. “She knows we’re coming.”

  A fifth man was leaning against the boulder. Sir Ander guessed that was Lucello. He searched for Eiddwen, but couldn’t see her.

  The wizard storm that he had cursed now proved to be a blessing. The mists of the Breath mingled with the advancing clouds to effectively hide Ander and the others from the view of those on the ground as they descended.

  They had devised a plan before they left. Sir Ander, Sir Henry, and Alan would swoop down, bursting out of the clouds, fire at Eiddwen and her guards at close range, killing or wounding them before they knew what hit them. Once the area was secure, Father Jacob would defuse or dismantle the bomb.

  Alan flashed the light from his dark lantern, giving them the signal. Sir Ander looked at Father Jacob to see if he knew what was happening, if he was even paying attention.

  Father Jacob shouted something. It was hard to hear with the wind rushing in his ears, but Sir Ander thought he said, “God go with you!”

  Taking that for a “yes,” Sir Ander drew his dragon pistol. He would fire his first shot with that magical weapon, saving the nonmagical pistol for whatever followed.

  He and the others flew lower, still shrouded in mist. Every so often, Sir Ander would catch a glimpse of the guards, who were keeping watch for enemies on the ground, not expecting trouble to swoop down on them from above.

  They had only a few more yards to go when a blast of rain-laden wind shredded the mists and left them without cover. Nonetheless, they kept going. So far the guards had not noticed them.

  Unfortunately, the two stolen griffins did. Once they caught sight of their fellows in the air, the hobbled griffins began shrieking and thrashing about.

  The alarmed guards looked up at the griffin riders, as did Lucello. He sprang from his place by the boulder and shouted something Ander couldn’t make out. Eiddwen, who must have been on the opposite side of the boulder, came into view. She, too, was looking at the descending griffins, who were screeching and hooting at their fellows.

  “Attack!” Alan bellowed.

  He really had no need to give the command, Sir Ander thought bitterly. The fool griffins were going to attack whether their riders willed it or not. The guards, seeing the threat, raised their long guns, took aim and fired. Green fireballs soared into the air. The fireballs had a greater range than a bullet, but lacked the velocity, making them relatively easy to dodge. The griffins instinctively avoided them and the fireballs sailed past harmlessly.

  It was then Sir Ander realized his griffin was not intending to land, allowing him to dismount. T
he stupid beast was going in for the kill!

  He pulled on the reins and shouted and cursed, trying to stop it, but the griffin ignored him. With claws extended and beak snapping, the beast dove down on its prey. Sir Ander wondered briefly if he would survive the collision.

  He fired his pistol at the guard, then flung both arms around the griffin’s neck and gripped with his thighs, hoping desperately to hang on. Green fire burst in front of him and the griffin screamed in pain. He could feel the beast shudder and smell the nauseating stench of burnt feathers. The enraged griffin slammed into the Bottom Dweller, its claws striking the man in the chest. Sir Ander lost his grip and flew out of the saddle.

  For a moment he lay dazed and stunned on the stony ground, trying to catch his breath. Overhead, a sheet of purple lightning blossomed among the clouds, followed almost instantly by deafening thunder and a deluge of rain. The sun disappeared, vanquished by the storm.

  He caught a glimpse of the Contraption. Overtaken by a squall, the vehicle was being tossed about. He saw it go into a steep dive, plummeting toward the ground, and then day grew dark as night and he lost sight of it.

  Two pistol shots went off not far from him. He heard Alan swearing and Sir Henry shouting. Sir Ander lurched to his feet and yanked off his helm, trying to see through the roaring darkness.

  “Henry!” Alan shouted out of the night. “Behind you!”

  A dazzling sheet of lightning flared. Sir Ander drew his pistol and turned to see one of the soldiers taking aim at Sir Henry. At Alan’s shout, the soldier whipped around, shifting his aim to the captain.

  Alan raised his rifle.

  “Drop it, Alan!” Sir Ander warned. “The magic!”

  He was too late. A blazing ball of green contramagic struck the rifle and wrapped the barrel in sizzling tendrils of flame. The rifle blew apart in a ball of orange fire. Alan gave an agonized cry and fell to the ground, writhing in the mud.

  Sir Ander raised his pistol, but before he could fire, he heard a shot behind him. The soldier jerked and spun and then crumpled to the ground.